


Homecomings and Homegoings

by Infinite_Monkeys



Series: Family Ties [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drax Appreciates Ballet, Fluff, Gen, Laser Tag, Light Angst, One Shot, POV Peter Quill, Rocket Steals Basically Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Yeah This Is Probably Crack, just a little, no real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinite_Monkeys/pseuds/Infinite_Monkeys
Summary: Earth isn't quite what Peter Quill remembers. It can be frustrating, it can be fun, but home is wherever his team is.Or: that fic where the Avengers and the Guardians play laser tag. The first of several one-shots to followImpostor Syndrome.





	Homecomings and Homegoings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I promised one-shot follow-ups to _Impostor Syndrome_ , and I had the first one written and saved long before I finished that fic. I liked it quite a lot, I was (am) excited to show it to you guys, and long story short... this is not that fic. I realized that it skipped over some kind of important events, and people would probably have questions, so I wrote this as a go-between. 
> 
> I don't know how much sense this will make if you haven't read the previous story, but you're certainly welcome to try. If you get confused, or if you're just a fan of weird stories with lots of dramatic irony, improbable friendships, messed-up family dynamics, and sort of medium-scale zombie battles, you can go back and check that out. 
> 
> Once more, all of the standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Marvel, or any of the characters, or even the settings. I just borrow them and have a bit of fun from time to time.

Being an adult on Earth involved far more paperwork than Peter Quill remembered from being a child on Earth.  
  
There was a fixation, bordering on obsession, with the stuff. Worst of all, he was almost positive some of the forms they had been asked to fill out had been made up just for them. There had been a situation for which no paperwork existed, and someone had seen that and thought it was a _problem_. A problem they had "fixed".  
  
It didn't even take a whole day of helping with repairs (and feeling tiny next to hordes of Vikings, not that Drax's obvious obsession with the Asgardians' strength helped with that) for them to appear, men and women who had to be government officials with their dark suits and their questions and their endless forms and files.  
  
Normally, Peter didn't mind attention. Normally, he rather liked being the center of said attention. But attention from the law, especially when people were asking hard questions with harder looks, that was uncomfortable.  
  
Which was why Robot Dude was the best.  
  
He touched down in the middle of the throng with a loud mechanical whirring and waved his arms. "Go, shoo," he said calmly as his robot-face opened easily away from his real-face. "Do your own paperwork. Stop clamoring like thirteen-year-old girls at a 1D concert. Really, people, this is ridiculous."  
  
The people surrounding them glared, but they also slunk off, filling Peter with a deep sense of gratitude.  
  
Robot Dude turned to them. "You guys hungry? I feel like it's time for a break."  
  
"I could kiss you," Drax said seriously. Their group had pulled together into a tight little bunch, instinctively sheltering together from the bureaucratic onslaught, and now they started to relax.  
  
Gamora pointed to where several Asgardians, including both Odinsons, were surrounded. "Should we rescue them as well?"  
  
Robot Dude waved her off with his robot hand. "Nah. They can take one for the team. I'm going to lead with the best and say you guys have got to try pizza. I know just the place."  
  
"I am Groot," Groot said.  
  
He gave Groot a sideways look. "Good for you, buddy. I'm Iron Man, by the way, if you guys haven't heard of me."  
  
"That is a stupid name," Drax said bluntly. "You are not made of iron. They should call you 'man who wears an iron suit'."  
  
"That has absolutely no style. None," Iron Man protested.  
  
"But it would be more accurate."  
  
"Not really," he said. "Suit's not actually made of iron. It's an alloy."  
  
"Then it is an even stupider name," Drax insisted.  
  
Peter groaned, because this for sure meant they weren't getting pizza, but to his surprise, Iron Man only grunted in irritation before leading them to the restaurant. It was small and not terribly busy, and though the people inside looked at them oddly they were seated within minutes.  
  
Pizza, now that was as good as he remembered. Possibly better. He closed his eyes as he bit the first slice, savoring the melted cheese and lack of replicator tang.  
  
"You are right, man-who-wears-a-not-iron-suit," Drax said with his mouth full. "This is the best food I have ever tasted."  
  
"You know what?" he said, "let's go with Stark. Forget I ever even said Iron Man."  
  
"He's totally going to keep calling you that," Rocket said around his own mouthful of pizza.  
  
"I am Groot." Stark gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything.  
  
Eventually, the officials that had been shooed away tracked them down, and they had to sit down and fill out the stupid paperwork. Somehow, on a full stomach, it wasn't so bad.

* * *

  
  
Earth's governments were profoundly disappointed to learn that the Guardians didn't have the authority to speak for their respective species, that they didn't, in fact, represent anyone other than themselves.  
  
The disappointment came with a significant drop in the amount of bothering they did, which was fine by him. In fact, as soon as that particular truth came out, they were all but ignored in favor of the Asgardians. Most of their attention seemed split between arguing about how to handle Loki and securing Asgard's protection in the case of future invasion-type threats, which, given that most of their attempted negotiations were with Thor, they didn't seem to be handling super well. He gave them his word to 'stand in defense of this realm should the need arise', insisted that his brother was to be left alone, and considered the conversation done.  
  
Continuing to try and argue with him was a little like repeatedly body-slamming a brick wall, but that didn't stop people from trying. Every so often, a dazed man or woman in a suit would wander by, and their glassy eyes told the story for them. He almost felt bad, but he'd never really been in the habit of pitying people who touched a reactor core and were surprised when their fingers got burned. The problem was eventually self-correcting.  
  
After the initial reactions to their abrupt entrance, the people running volunteer relief efforts in the city recovered fairly quickly from their star-struck 'ermagosh it's aliens' attitude and set them to work doing everything from clearing rubble to distributing water and medical supplies. Gamora even managed to shame one of the news crews that tried following them around into pitching in, which just went to show she was capable of pretty much anything. Stark offered them a place to stay in the city, which they accepted gratefully, and even offered to sponsor their activities given that Earth was apparently too backwards to accept standard credits.  
  
This settled into an easy rhythm... help with the relief efforts throughout the day, and in the evenings one of their hosts would choose an activity, some, in Peter's opinion, more exciting than others. The next day Captain America (yes, that Captain America, who was apparently real and still alive and actually a superhero) took them to a history museum, talking about how he understood what it was like to have missed a chunk of Earth's history and about getting Peter caught up.  
  
'Visiting a museum' turned out to be code for 'spending three hours making sure Rocket didn't steal any priceless historic artifacts', and he still wasn't entirely sure the raccoon didn't manage to sneak something past them. The curator had nearly passed out when they pulled him aside, handed him an ancient broadsword that was supposed to be behind locked glass, and warned him they may need to update the security systems.  
  
Besides that, the only other thing Peter remembered was how deeply the man had blushed when he realized the museum had a Captain America exhibit. "Hey, at least it's not as big as the one at the Smithsonian," Stark had said, but judging by the good Captain's glare that wasn't very comforting.  
  
Bruce, a smallish, surprisingly normal-looking dude who for some reason came with a ton of warnings about not stressing him out, took them to an observatory and asked them questions about the stars. They answered to the best of their knowledge, pointing out the ones with systems they had visited and telling stories about past adventures. It was fun, and relaxing, and if he embellished some of the details in his own stories, well, no one here could call him out on it.  
  
The scary redhead took them to a ballet. It was weird and out-of-character based on their interactions so far (or maybe he's just projecting that 'I'm-a-warrior-I-don't-dance' attitude Gamora had when they first met onto her, who knows), and also incredibly, mind-numbingly boring.  
  
Gamora, slumped in her seat beside him, seemed to agree. Rocket, if anything, looked more bored than he felt.  
  
He looked over at Drax, hoping to catch his eyes for a half-second of commiseration, but his attention was fixed on the prancy little dancers, enthralled. Must have zoned out, then. When would this end?  
  
Drax did look over, then, but when he met the big man's eye, a single tear was rolling down his cheek. "They're so graceful," he said in a Drax whisper, which was still loud enough for the people in front of them to twist around and give them dirty looks. Dirty looks that faded to faintly intimidated ones once they caught sight of him. "This is the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life."  
  
He leaned over to whisper in Gamora's ear that _she_  was prettier than some people flouncing in tights, or some variant thereof that sounded less goofy and more sexy, but she shushed him.  
  
"Such strength," Drax whispered, "such nobility."  
  
No one shushed him. Life could be so unfair sometimes.  
  
Somehow, during the ballet, Rocket and Groot had stolen one of the performer's shoes. Rocket held it up triumphantly after they left, wide, trouble-seeking grin on his face, and Drax took it from him, cradling it as though it were something other than a used shoe. "I will treasure it," he announced, "as a reminder of this night." Rocket looked ready to object, but then shrugged and let him keep it.  
  
Gamora gave him a 'scold the children' look, and he waited until she left to give Rocket a high five.  
  
The best and worst idea for an outing, by far, was Hawkeye's.  
  
"Laser tag," he said without hesitating when they told him it was his turn to choose the activity.  
  
Captain America frowned. "Aren't we supposed to pick things that represent Earth's culture, history, that sort of thing?"  
  
Hawkeye shrugged. "Laser tag is culture. You don't have to come if you don't want to."  
  
"I didn't say that," he said quickly, and it was settled.  
  
It took a while to find a Laser Tag arena big enough for everyone (someone had mentioned the plans to Thor, and then he and all the twenty-odd other Asgardians wanted to come, and you couldn't really tell twentyish excited Vikings they weren't invited), and when they did, Stark had called upon the power of wealth and celebrity to book the entire place.  
  
The rules were simple enough. The establishment assigned them to four different teams, and they were assigned clunky-looking toy guns and vests with colored lights that flashed when they'd been "hit". The arena was dark and filled with boxes and structures at different levels, all covered in black felt, with black lights illuminating everything so you could just barely make out the shapes of the things around you. He instantly regretted his own light-grey T-shirt, and wondered if it was cheating or coincidence that so many of the other players wore black.  
  
By some oversight, Gamora, Sif, and Romanov had all been assigned to the same team, and soon their group had claimed the most defensible corner and was taking down all challengers with ruthless efficiency. Challenge accepted.  
  
After the first initial whirlwind firefight, Peter found himself pressed up against a wall, popping up just long enough to shoot at anyone wearing enemy colors.  
  
"Cover me," he whispered to Rocket, shifting position to get closer to the girls' stronghold. He crept around one low step and pressed himself to the corner of a larger wall, hazarding a quick look around the edge. Gamora was there, crouched in a low fighting stance with her back to him, lining up a shot at one of the Asgardians whose name he didn't remember.  
  
He took a second to gather himself and whipped around the corner, guns at the ready, only to find himself staring down the barrel at empty air. Before his surprise could properly register, something slammed into the side of him and Gamora was there, blaster pressed into his vest.  
  
"Hah," she said into his ear before pulling the trigger and disappearing, leaving him breathing hard and blinking bright red lights.  
  
The second they stopped they started again with a small jolt, and it took him a full two seconds to spot Hawkeye, somehow on top of one of the dividing walls, picking off confused players from above. "Dude, not cool," he shouted, and the man rolled off to the other side with an evil-sounding laugh.  
  
They flashed again, and he spun around to see Romanov disappearing behind another corner. He grumbled and headed for cover, almost running into Rocket and Groot in the near-darkness.  
  
A loud, terrifying sound made him freeze, and Rocket leapt out of the way just as Drax barrelled toward them. He ran right down the center of the room, gun held high, shouting "for victory!" as his vest flashed with hit after hit.  
  
Loki's outraged cry of "the signal, you oaf, you were supposed to wait for the signal!" followed him down to where he slammed into Peter, knocking him over and landing on top of him with a fierce cry.  
  
"Victory!" he shouted over the top of Rocket's "you don't get any points for tackling people, you do realize that, right?"  
  
"I do," he said, laughing. "This was worth it."  
  
Thor grinned and made his way towards his brother's outraged cries, gun held low and keeping to the shadows. Drax rolled off of Peter and pushed to his feet, evidently satisfied. "Now where is Stark?" he said as he stalked off.  
  
"You know he's on your team, right?" Rocket called after him, then shook his head.  
  
When the game was finished and the points tallied, Gamora's team, unsurprisingly, emerged the victors. She, Sif and Romanov maintained a stoic if smug attitude that was entirely undermined by the victory dancing and cheering and impromptu singing of the other Asgardians that had been their teammates. Drax cheered like he thought he was part of the winning team, Captain America shook hands with the winners like the good sport that Captain America obviously was, and Hawkeye just looked pleased with himself and reminded people that the whole outing had been his idea.  
  
Loki emerged looking a bit frazzled, and he shot Drax a poisonous look. "Next time," he huffed, "I want to be on the girls' team."  
  
"Sorry, no can do. Ladies only." Romanov smirked.  
  
Instead of pointing out that there had been several men on their team, he waved a hand, and a ripple of green light flowed over him, subtly shifting his form until he was decidedly and obviously a woman.  
  
Romanov raised her eyebrows, looking faintly impressed, while most everyone else ranged from surprised to disturbed. Loki laughed, the sound familiar if decidedly more feminine, and said "any other objections?"  
  
Tony's whispered "did you know he could do that?" somehow turned into a story about the time he convinced Thor to wear a wedding dress on one of their adventures, and Drax laughed all the way back to Stark's tower.

* * *

  
  
Later that night, after everyone had mostly settled down, there was a knock at the door to his room. When he pulled it open Stark held out an open bag of pretzels. "Want some?"  
  
"Sure." He grabbed a handful and eyed the billionaire warily as he moved past him to look out the window. Peter joined him. The last of the sunset was fading, the city lights growing more pronounced. Something about all the tiny nighttime lights at the horizon was soothing, and he was grateful for the view.  
  
"You've got SHIELD pretty upset," Tony said, offering him some more pretzels, which he took.  
  
"Who, me? Like specifically me? I didn't take it. It was probably Rocket."   
  
Tony frowned. "Take what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
He shook his head. "They did some digging. Turned up a file. Eight-year-old kid named Peter Jason Quill went missing in Missouri back in '88. That you?"  
  
He frowned. "I dunno. Probably? That's my name."  
  
"Yeah, we figured. SHIELD's not too happy about the idea of little green men coming and grabbing our kiddos."  
  
"He was blue, and not particularly little." Then "I turned out fine." Peter shrugged, trying not to hear 'the boys ain't never tasted Terran before' playing through the back of his mind.  
  
"So what was that like? Being abducted by aliens, I mean."  
  
A blur of memory hit him. Bright lights on grass. His grandad's voice, harsh with tears. His mom's face, too pale, with the hospital machines beeping. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.  
  
Tony cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I've read the file. You've still got some family, if you're interested. An aunt, I think, and some cousins. I could book a flight if you want to see them."  
  
Peter swallowed. It had been something he used to fantasize about, going back and finding his mom's family. An aunt. He wondered if she looked like his mom. He wondered if he and his cousins would have been friends, in another life.  
  
"No thanks," he said. "I have all the family I need." It sounded like a tough lie, something a grizzled anti-hero might say, but when he said it, it didn't have that feel. It was earnest. He meant it.  
  
"Fair enough," Tony said, and based on the faintly approving tone in those words, he understood.  
  
Family, after all, was just another word for the people life sticks you with.  
  
Peter wouldn't trade the family he had now for the world.

* * *

  
Vacationing on Earth was fun, it was, but when a week passed and the worst of the damage they could help with was, well, helped with (didn't hurt that they'd been late to the party), the majority of the Vikings decided to go home, and the Guardians decided to go with them.  
  
This was great and all, but Peter's fingers itched for the controls of his ship, and he craved the sight of the stars through his view screen, real and close and glorious and not swallowed by the dirty city lights.  
  
They stood near the back of the crowd of Asgardians and said their goodbyes. The Avengers seemed a little disappointed and a little relieved to see them go, mirroring his own sentiments exactly. Earth wasn't his home, not anymore. His home was anywhere and everywhere, so long as his friends (family) were with him. His home was the _Milano_  and open space and all the spaces in between. He wanted to go home.  
  
Rocket pulled Loki aside as he made his way to the front of the crowd, and something, he couldn't tell what, was exchanged. Whatever it was, they sported identical mischievous grins as he pulled open a portal to Asgard.  
  
Peter had forgotten how bright and golden the sun there was. A hand flew up to shield his eyes as he stepped through, but he could see it, his home-away-from-anywhere still parked where they had left it.  
  
Loki walked with them as the rest of the Asgardians dispersed, stopping just outside the door.  
  
Peter stopped too, taking a moment to rest a hand on her hull and appreciate the feel of the space-worn metal beneath his fingers. He turned to find Loki watching him, a contemplative expression on his face.  
  
"You sure you don't want to come with? We've got room for one more, I'm just sayin'."  
  
Loki smiled but shook his head. "Not now. While the offer is tempting, I intend to learn as much as possible about the Infinity Stones, and for that I should remain somewhere near to Asgard's libraries. I have a feeling we may have need of the knowledge soon enough."  
  
"Can't you just take the books you need with you? Like poof?" He spread his fingers wide, mimicking an explosion because as quiet as the reality seemed to be, the idea of magic still _felt_  explode-y to him somehow.  
  
"I hardly think they'd let me make off with the entire library," he pointed out, and Rocket scoffed.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be a prince or something? Some title, if they won't even loan you a few books."  
  
"The people who must give permission are the Allfather and Allmother," he said. "My parents. Deciding whether I could do something that would mean my leaving to unknown places for undisclosed lengths of time."  
  
"We could steal them," Rocket offered. "I've already got a plan. All we need is a loud, distracting noise, a box big enough to fit both Peter and Groot, and your dad's big pointy stick." At Loki's incredulous look, he amended, "well, any stick would work, but that one's really cool-looking."  
  
"I appreciate the thought," Loki said, face serious but eyes halfway to laughing, "but I still think it best that I stay here for now. If nothing else, I think it might permanently scar my brother if I disappeared again so soon. We've been offered a place to stay on Midgard."  
  
"Well, if you change your mind..."  
  
"I am Groot," Groot finished.  
  
Loki nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."  
  
Something that had been subtly off clicked back into place when he stepped into the ship's interior. Everything felt _right_ , from the smell of the air to the hollow clink of the metal floor beneath his boots to the warm faux-leather of his chair as he strapped in for take-off.  
  
"There is a disembodied arm in my seat," Drax said behind him in a low, irritated voice. When Peter twisted to look over his shoulder, sure enough, a familiar red-and-gold shape slumped across the cushion.  
  
"Rocket," he yelled, "is that Iron Man's arm?"  
  
"What? No!" he protested loudly. "That's totally not what that is."  
  
A second later, he said "it's _my_  arm now, sucker."  
  
"I heard that," he shouted back.  
  
"Heard what? I didn't say anything."  
  
Gamora sighed, and he silently agreed. When Rocket got like this, only one thing would snap him out of it.  
  
"Time to find another adventure," he mumbled to himself as they made the jump back into deep space.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading to the end! There will be more one-shots to come; some of them will be more serious than this, and some of them... won't.


End file.
